


Ten Miles

by joss80



Series: 2015 LJ h/c bingo prompts [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joss80/pseuds/joss80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is stranded when his Charger breaks down while he's off looking for bad guys. Alone. What happens when they find him first?<br/>Written for the 2015 LJ hurt/comfort bingo. Prompt: Major illness/injury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Miles

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to HinkyHippo for the awesome artwork! :) This was a case of fic inspired by art, and I was so excited to write this after I saw her work in the pic below.
> 
>  

He’d broken one of the first rules of survival when stranded outdoors: Don’t leave your vehicle.

But it was summer not winter, his name was Tony DiNozzo, and the main road was only a few miles, ten _at most_ back the way he’d just come. So of course he had, and of course he’d had his Go Bag with him so it wasn’t really that bad, was it?

There was no cellphone service to speak of, and nothing but the hot dry wind and the short dry grass at the edge of the single-track paved road to keep him company as he walked along. He tried whistling a few tunes, but that only made him thirstier and his one bottle of water was quickly leaning more towards empty than full. So he kept going, shedding his jacket and holding it over his head to try to protect himself from the worst of the sun’s rays.

Day turned to dusk and then to dark, and the highway still wasn’t in sight. He began hearing occasional rustling in the grass next to him, and swore he heard the far-off howl of a fox or wolf or something at one point, but none of that bothered him.

What _did_ bother him was his parched mouth and the beginnings of a headache that signalled dehydration. He began having some trouble focusing on the road up ahead, his brain not quite helping him put one foot in front of the other in a co-ordinated fashion anymore. But he kept on going, because that was the only thing he could do because the blasted Charger was now several miles behind him.

He crested a ridge and felt most of the tension flood out of his body as he spotted pairs of lights flashing along from left to right and right to left in the far distance. And lights just off the highway, heading towards him. Shoulders sagged and he stumbled, relief giving way to immediate caution as his body struggled to cope.

And in the distance, the rumble of an engine. _Behind_ , not in front. He slowed to a stop and turned, because walking backwards was just asking for trouble at this point… but there was nothing, nothing but the dark behind, and the moonlit night sky above. He tried to quicken his pace, but it was no use and he had to slow down again.

Once again, the gunning of an engine, closer this time. He stopped and turned again, but there was still nothing visible behind him in the dark. He let his jacket drop to the side of the road with one hand as he pulled his gun from his holster with the other, took the safety off, paused to take in a long, aching breath.

There was a reason, after all, that he’d been driving up this godforsaken road in the first place. And reasons, in his line of work, were not usually safe, pretty ones. The Charger’s radiator hose had crapped out on him, leaving a short trail of green fluid along the road long before he’d reached the suspected hideout they’d been looking for. It was the only structure along this road, according to satellite maps. 

Which meant that cars coming from up the road would only be coming _from_ one place.

He took aim into the darkness, bracing his right elbow against his ribcage so that he could hold some sort of position but not fatigue as fast as if he had his arms properly outstretched.

And there it was, the slightest glint of light off of a chrome grill barely 100 yards away.

He raised his arms, squared his stance as much as he could manage. Aimed. Fired. The kickback felt stronger in his weakened state, but he aimed and fired again even as the headlights flared to life and the engine gunned again and tires squealed on the road.

It was over in barely ten seconds, but it seemed like a lifetime with his mind and body moving in slow-motion. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Blinding lights now, and he moved to the side of the road but the car followed him.

He dove at the last second, but the car was faster.

* * *

_Whose cat was licking at his mouth with a sandpaper tongue?_

“Tony? Tony!”

A loud noise, running footsteps.

“Tony.” A soothing voice at his ear.

He tried to talk, but the sandpaper tongue got in the way. And then he slowly realized that it was his own tongue, and that he couldn’t talk. His lips smacked together soundlessly, and a few seconds later someone poured cool water over them. 

_More_ , he managed to mouth, and the person must have understood because he felt the water start to trickle into his mouth and he gulped it down as best he could.

Then the water disappeared and he was about to ask for more, pretty certain that this time some sound might actually come out of his mouth, when two hands cradled the side of his head and under his ears from behind, effectively holding him still.

“Don’t move. We need to keep you like this until help arrives. Pretty sure you hit your head.”

And it was only _then_ , as the voice caressed against his ear once more that he realized who was helping him.

“ _Gibbs,_ ” he croaked out, and he tried to turn his head but a twinge of pain shot down his neck at the same time as the older man shushed him and asked him to stay still again.

“Had some cell signal not too far back,” Gibbs explained quietly. “Called for help and back-up as soon as that car careened past me with the freshly-dented grill and cracked windshield.” 

Tony was grateful for the information although he wasn’t really taking it all in. His head hurt like a bitch and his legs and arms felt tingly.

“How’dyou fin’ me?” He managed to huff out, his heartbeat speeding up as he came to more and more. “Was unconshus?”

“GPS tracking on the car, DiNozzo,” Gibbs sighed, his voice heavy with frustration. “If you _ever_ do something harebrained like this by yourself again I’ll….”

“Wha?” 

A loud sigh emanated from behind him. “Just don’t, Tony.”

And the hands cradled his head even more gently if that was possible, and Tony thought he felt the light brush of lips against his hair.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because faint sirens sounded in the distance and several minutes later there was a flurry of activity around him as the paramedics took over. The last thing he saw in the flash of lights before the ambulance doors closed was Gibbs standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, eyes focused intensely on him.

* * *

“Compression fractures at C5 and C6, fractured clavicle, fracture of the left tibia and fibular, sprained ankle too. We’re gonna have him trussed up like a chicken for a few weeks.”

“Wait until he hears that you shaved half his hair off, Doc.”

_Gibbs._

Wait. _Hair?_

He cracked an eye open to find Gibbs looking down at him with a smirk on his face.

“Thought that’d get your attention,” Gibbs grunted, and then turned back to the doctor who was standing off to the side. “So, two days?”

“Uh, yes,” the doctor said, as he consulted the chart in his hands. “So long as he remains conscious and his vital signs continue to be stable.” A set of teal blue scrubs moved into Tony’s line of vision. “How are you feeling, Agent DiNozzo?” the doctor asked him.

“Hair?” Tony rasped out.

* * *

Almost exactly 48 hours later Tony was being wheeled up a temporary ramp and into Gibbs’ house. He had a few new accessories that he was none too fond of – a full leg brace, a sling, and a neck brace among them. He couldn’t even use crutches because of his fractured collarbone. He eyed Gibbs’ couch warily and wondered just how much of this next week he might be spending immobile on it, when Gibbs and McGee suddenly appeared on either side of him and lifted him up in some kind of fancy manoeuvre. They huffed and puffed their way up the stairs, which was no small feat with Tony’s trim-but-large frame, and Gibbs guided them over to the side of his bed.

“Thanks, Tim,” Gibbs breathed out heavily as they lowered Tony down slowly. “See you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, Boss,” Tim replied with a smile at both of them. “I’m glad you’re okay, Tony.”

Tony managed a weak smile at the thought of how really _not okay_ he was, as Tim left the room. He could probably manage a fork or mug of coffee, but he didn’t even want to think about how he was going to relieve himself or get clean without huge embarrassment. 

Never mind watching TV, when he couldn’t even move his neck. Oh the horrors.

“Hey!” Gibbs’ strong but kind voice brought him back to the moment, and a warm hand squeezed at his right thigh. “We’re in this together, okay?”

“We are?” Tony wheezed. He somehow, _amazingly_ hadn’t broken any ribs but they were still _damn_ tender. 

“I’m off work for the next two weeks, and you’re staying here beyond that for as long as you need.” Gibbs’ hand squeezed gently at his thigh again, and the sight of it there made Tony feel inexplicably warm and fuzzy despite all the other crap going on with his body.

“In your bed?” Tony asked, his eyebrows raising up slightly as he tried and failed to hold back a smile. He wanted to tilt his head to the side, but his neck brace held further attempts at playing coy firmly in place.

He swore Gibbs blushed slightly, but the hand stayed firmly in place as Gibbs crouched down next to him at the side of the bed.

“If you want.” And it was both an answer and a question, and Tony knew in that instance that this was about whatever he needed and wanted to make of the situation. It was an open offer, Gibbs laying himself as bare as he knew how, and suddenly Tony didn’t feel so embarrassed about everything else. 

He let his eyes meet Gibbs’ piercing blue ones, and held on for dear life.

“Oh, I want.”


End file.
